


Hotte Couture

by SeeBeeStrellacott



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Porn with Feelings, Robin buys lingerie, Robin gains confidence, Shameless Smut, Strike likes it, Valentine's Day, it gets a little kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeBeeStrellacott/pseuds/SeeBeeStrellacott
Summary: Strike and Robin spend their first Valentine's Day together as a couple.  Robin decides to surprise him with some new lingerie, and Strike gets an eye full... and a lap full.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	Hotte Couture

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Robin's playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2k3GFZxyJWOf4EbLkyQwwM?si=2a7d03b1586f4b23)
> 
> This was not beta'd, so please forgive any errors.

Robin stared at the outfits she had arranged on her bed. She had gone a little overboard, that was certain. A substantial portion of her latest paycheck now lay atop the duvet in a frivolous display of satin and lace that was anything but practical. It was the first Valentine’s Day that she and Cormoran would be spending together, and she had definitely put too much thought into it. 

Well, this wasn’t actually the first time they had spent the holiday together. The events of the previous year hung heavily in her mind; Strike showing up late, already three sheets to the wind; a seriously ill-advised discussion on the attributes of “slut walks”; Strike vomiting profusely in the street; yelling at him for ruining what wouldn’t have been a romantic evening anyway, but in her mind had held a special significance. 

Even though they had agreed that it was a dumb holiday and said that they weren’t going to get each other gifts, Robin still felt a certain need to replace the less than savory memories of the day with something she could look back on more fondly. And so she had rather impulsively bought several sets of lingerie, unable to decide which one she thought Cormoran would enjoy most. 

Her selections ranged from innocently demure, to classically sexy, to femme fatale. Of course he had seen her in lingerie before, but nothing more special than a basic black bra and knickers. He had seen her in her everyday unmatching bra and knickers, as well. He had even seen her in her holey “period pants” that were so old they could soon apply for a driving license. And through it all, he hadn’t shown any preference in her choice of underthings. His heated gaze was the same whether she was wearing an overpriced pushup bra or a beige utilitarian number. She seriously doubted he would be dissatisfied with any of the options she had strewn about her bed, but she was no more capable of making a decision now than she had been when she had over-ordered online. She wanted to surprise him, wanted to break through that hard as steel composure of his. 

She looked again at the patent-leather bodysuit that could hardly be called a bodysuit at all, as all the straps seemed to curve around the parts that should be covered. It looked more like body jewelry than a bodysuit. Deciding it was a little too avant-garde for her first foray into seductive lingerie, she put it into the “keep for later” pile, along with the soft leather flogger that had come with it. 

She and Strike had, what was to her, a rather adventurous sex-life. He was ready and willing to try anything she wanted, and she had gradually gained confidence in suggesting new positions or toys. Just a couple of weeks previously, he had pinned her hands above her head as he drove into her, and ever since she had fantasized about returning the favor, so to speak. And so when she had found some lingerie pieces that had come with extra “accessories” like the flogger, she had put them into her digital cart without a second thought. Now, however, she was starting to wonder if that had been the best idea. The maroon lace number was about to join the strappy black bodysuit in the pile of rejects, but her hand couldn’t seem to let go of the lace blindfold and cuffs. She set them aside in the “maybe” pile and turned her attention to the other items.

She narrowed her selection down to three options, picking one from each of the “categories” into which she had sorted her purchases. The maroon lace, along with its matching blindfold and cuffs, joined the final contestants as the “femme fatale” representative, though she was certain it was probably more “classically sexy.” She fingered the straps of the garter belt, imagining Cormoran unfastening them, and she felt her cheeks warm. With the exception of the “innocently demure” outfit, all of them were a little much for her usual style, but that was the point, wasn’t it?

Unable to make a single selection, she threw all three outfits into a bag, deciding that she would just let Cormoran choose his favorite. Looking at her watch, she jumped, quickly throwing together the rest of her things and hurrying out the door.

***

Strike stared at the gift he had picked up for Robin, wondering if he should have gotten her something better. They had said they weren’t going to get each other gifts, but he wasn’t stupid enough to show up with nothing. How many times had Charlotte told him she didn’t want anything and then hung it over his head when he had taken her at her word? He knew Robin would never do that, but gifts had been a spot of contention between them in the past.  _ I definitely should have gotten her something better, _ he thought, but what? Flowers were definitely off the table, and jewelry was too much for this point in their relationship. However, he heard the door open at that moment, and so he stuffed the box out of sight into one of the kitchen cupboards, hoping she would find the humor in it.

“Hiya,” Robin called as she entered the kitchen. 

Strike was staying with Nick and Ilsa, as the ongoing development of Denmark Street had finally kicked him out of his flat. He had yet to find a suitable place near central London on his meager salary, so he had called the guest bedroom at Octavia Street home for the last few weeks. After a lengthy and heated discussion with Ilsa about staying out of he and Robin’s relationship, she had finally given them their space, though she still occasionally asked leading questions or dropped subtle hints about a  _ better  _ place Strike could live, all of which were met with glares from both detectives. When it had looked like Ilsa was about to object to their lack of Valentine’s plans, Nick had stepped in and announced that he was whisking his wife away for a romantic weekend. He had given Strike a look that clearly said, “You owe me one.”

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Strike said, greeting Robin with a chaste kiss.

She grinned at the sight of the apron hung round his neck, which was clearly Ilsa’s, as it was pale yellow, with a coral-colored tie, and hemmed with cartoon citrus. A large coral-colored citrus adorned the middle of the apron, with the words “You’re my main squeeze” written artfully across the fruit. She saw that underneath the apron, he was wearing one of his nicer shirts, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There was a small splatter of sauce caught in the dense hair of his forearm, which he wiped carelessly onto the front of the apron.

He turned back to the stove and Robin gave a playful tug to the back of his belt. He half turned towards her for a more thorough kiss, then pulled away with a wink as he returned his attention to the sauce. Robin took her bag up to the guest bedroom and tucked the lingerie away in the en suite for later. She returned to the kitchen to find Strike plating the chicken piccata over a pile of pasta. 

Robin wasn’t sure why she had been so surprised to find that Strike was a wonderful cook, but his skills in the kitchen had joined the rapidly expanding list of reasons why she loved him. They hadn’t said those words to each other yet, but neither were in a rush to declare themselves. They were both happy to let their love develop slowly, at its own pace. Both were acutely aware of how horribly awry love could turn. The success of their business weighed heavily on their minds, and so they had made a silent agreement of sorts not to move too quickly. But, they found little ways to express their feelings, like a crisp white shirt and a hint of lavender cologne for a simple dinner at home. The looks and casual touches they shared through the candlelight over their home cooked meal could leave no doubt that both were hopelessly head over heels.

After the plates were scraped clean of the delicious meal, Robin stood to help Strike clear the dishes, stacking them neatly in the sink. “Leave that,” he said, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling the sponge from her hands. “I got you something. I know we said no gifts, but I couldn’t resist.” He opened the cabinet next to him and pulled out a small rectangular box wrapped in shiny red cellophane. 

“Salted caramel chocolates?” Robin’s initial disappointment disappeared as soon as she saw Strike’s smirk. 

“I couldn’t get you  _ nothing, _ ” he teased.

“Ha, ha. Thanks anyway. Maybe if you’re good I’ll even share.” His smile said that was exactly what he was hoping for, especially when he opened the box and popped one in his mouth, all the while maintaining his smirk. Robin found it annoyingly adorable.

“Now why don’t you take these and go make yourself comfortable in the living room? I’ll finish clearing up.”

Robin tried to give him a “you’re in trouble” glare, but he answered her look with a dazzling smile, and they both knew she didn’t mean it. She smiled back as she bit into one of the chocolates.

When Strike turned back to the dishes, Robin quietly picked up one of the dining chairs and carried it into the living room, then snuck upstairs. She changed into the “sweet and innocent” outfit - a sheer robe in royal blue that just grazed the tops of her thighs, complete with matching g-string. She tied the satin sash around her waist, arranging the plunging neckline to show a hint of cleavage. Then she picked up her phone and texted Strike a single word:

**Sit**

He didn’t text back, but she saw that he had read the message. She connected her phone to the house’s smart speakers and started the playlist that she had chosen.

***

Strike stared at the single word on his phone. When he had first seen the message, he had assumed she was asking him to finish up and come join her, but when he entered the living room and saw the dining chair placed in the middle of the room, Robin nowhere in sight, he paused, wondering what she was up to. His mind immediately went to all sorts of unwholesome places, and his cock twitched with anticipation. He sat in the chair obediently, his knee jumping impatiently. He unbuttoned an extra button on his shirt, looked down at the newly exposed patch of hair, and rebuttoned it again. Now he stared at his phone, trying to pass the time during the excruciating wait for Robin to reveal whatever she had planned. “I Put A Spell On You” by Annie Lennox came on over the house’s smart speakers and his trousers became uncomfortably tight around the groin.

A new text came in while he waited:

**I also got you a present, though I’d wager I spent a bit more than you did. x**

Robin crept down the stairs to the living room. Strike was staring at his phone intently, an obvious bulge in his trousers. Robin leaned against the doorframe in what she hoped was a seductive pose. 

“What do you think?” she asked softly.

Strike jumped and looked up, his phone slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor, where he ignored it.

“Fuck  _ me, _ ” he breathed. 

His eyes traveled from Robin’s toes, up her leg, to the tops of her thighs, where the seductive sheer robe ended. She turned to the side slightly and he could see the bottom of her arse peeking out from underneath the robe. His eyes traveled a little higher, where he could see the strap of a g-string gracing the crest of her hip. The sleeves of the robe stopped at her elbow, giving the illusion of modesty, but as she turned back to face him, he could clearly see the dark outline of her nipples.

Robin sauntered towards him in bare feet, her hair a little mussed, looking slightly debauched already. She stopped just out of his reach and grinned when he shifted in his seat, adjusting his painfully hard cock. 

“Do you like it?” she asked in her most seductive voice.

“Mmm,” he grunted, “very,  _ very  _ much. But I think I’d like it better off of you.” 

Robin stepped into his waiting arms, and he ran his hands up the backs of her legs, cupping her arse underneath the robe. She stepped closer to him, spreading her legs out on either side of him, putting her breasts right at eye level. His hands danced up her sides to her breasts, the sheer fabric sliding seductively over her skin. He leaned forward, taking one mesh-clad nipple into his mouth. His tongue flicked over the hardened bud, the fabric adding an extra layer of friction. He reached for the satin sash at her waist, pulling slowly at the tie.

Robin swatted the back of his hand and stepped just out of reach. “Uh-uh, no touching,” she admonished, and Strike growled in response. 

An R&B song Strike didn’t recognize came on next. Robin took another step backwards and turned with her back to him. She looked back at him over her shoulder as she slowly lifted the hem of the rob to reveal the g-string peeking out above the cleft of her arse, then dropped the robe again and rolled her hips to the beat of the music. Strike’s cock twitched as he realized what she was doing; he had never been so turned on his life.

She turned back to face him and slowly pulled open the sash of the robe, but she held it closed with her hands. Her hips swayed to the music as she teased like she was going to open the robe, but then closed it again, over and over. The robe fell down one arm, revealing a freckled shoulder and the top of her breast. The robe fell a little more, and he could just see the edge of her nipple peeking out above the edge of the fabric. Her hips continued to undulate to the music, her hands grasping at the robe, ruching it up her stomach to reveal the entirety of the small g-string underneath. 

Strike’s hips were now slowly rolling in the chair, desperate for friction against his groin. Robin noticed and smirked. She stepped up to him again, still holding her robe closed. She slowly pulled the lapels to the side, and her nipples sprang free with a slight bounce as she tugged the robe over them. Strike groaned, his head leaning forward again, this time taking her bare skin into his mouth, his fingers plucking at the strap of her g-string. 

“I thought I told you no touching,” she admonished.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself when you look like that.”

“If you can’t behave, I won’t give you your other present,” she teased.

His eyebrow quirked up in a sexy smirk, “I have another present?”

“Two more, to be exact. Wait here, I’ll go get it.”

“But I’m still enjoying this one,” he protested, his hands sliding around her waist under the robe and attempting to pull her onto his lap.

“You might like the next one better. I couldn’t decide, so I thought I’d let you choose your favorite.”

“This one has pretty strong competition. Maybe you should let me look at it a little more.”

“Here, help yourself,” she said, sliding her arms out of the sleeves of the robe and dropping it on his lap. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she murmured, as she ran a hand along his sizable length, eliciting another moan. 

Strike clutched the robe and watched her saunter from the room, her backside swaying delightfully. 

She returned a few minutes later wearing a black lace bodysuit, with a neckline that plunged all the way past her navel. She turned, showing him the not-quite-thong back of the knickers. The cheeky hipster style showed off her arse rather nicely, and Strike longed to stroke the soft skin with his fingertips. Or better yet, his tongue. 

“What do you think of this one?”

“It’s gorgeous.  _ You’re  _ gorgeous, as always.”

Robin stepped into his arms, forgetting to sway to the music that was still playing. 

“No dance this time?” he asked cheekily.

Robin cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’m just waiting for the next song to come on.”

“Body Party,” by Ciara started and Robin sank onto his lap, grinding slowly against his groin. 

_ My body’s your party, baby _

_ Nobody’s invited but you, baby _

Strike caught the rhythm and rolled his hips up into her as she moved against him. He couldn’t resist grabbing onto her ample hips as he moved with her. She didn’t slap his hands away this time, but she did remind him, “You’re just determined to break the rules, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, “Sorry, I can’t help myself. You’re dressed like  _ that, _ and grinding on me like this.”

As if to emphasize his point, Robin slid back and forth along his length, and he could feel the heat of her core through his trousers. 

“You’re going to force me to take more drastic action,” she breathed.

His cock hardened impossibly further at the promise in her voice. He ached to know exactly what she meant by “more drastic action”. His hands danced slowly up her abdomen and pulled the lace aside, freeing her breasts, all the while looking pointedly in her eyes. Her eyebrows rose at his silent dare. She rolled her hips against his erection, then abruptly stood and stepped away from him. 

“You asked for it,” she warned over her shoulder as she walked away and up the stairs.

Strike’s trousers were slightly damp where she had rubbed along his length, and he groaned. Cock aching, he couldn’t resist palming himself in her absence. He grasped his thickness and rubbed his hand up and down his length. He couldn’t wrap his fingers all the way around his girth through his trousers, but the friction he was able to provide felt exquisite. He waited rather impatiently for Robin to return, wondering what his final present would be. He squeezed the head of his cock, and a spot of moisture formed on his trousers.

He heard her steps on the stairs and sat up a little straighter. Robin sauntered into view, her hips swinging confidently and Strike nearly fell out of his chair. She was wearing a matching three-piece set in maroon lace. The triangular cups of the bra just barely covered her nipples. Hugging around the curves of her cleavage was a frilly elastic band, giving the bra a cutout appearance. Her knickers were similarly cutout on the sides. A garter belt hugged her waist, adorned with heart cutouts on the sides, with satin straps clipped to thigh-high stockings. She revolved slowly, treating him to a rear view, where he could see the back of her thong was also adorned with a heart cutout, directly above the cleft of her arse.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed. He was fairly certain his mouth was hanging open stupidly, but he didn’t care. 

“So? What do you think?” she asked, her voice smooth as velvet. 

Strike’s brain seemed to have short-circuited. He grunted unintelligibly, completely unable to form any kind of coherent sentence.

“You don’t like it?” Robin asked playfully.

Strike cleared his throat and struggled to answer her. He was finally able to squeak out, “No, it’s good.” He cleared his throat again, trying to hide how his voice had cracked.

Her voice dropped to a low, sultry tone. “Good. Now, let’s see if I can’t get you to behave.”

It was then that Strike noticed a scrap of lace wrapped around her wrist, and another wound around her neck like a scarf. She pulled the scarf from her neck and hesitated. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice as she said, “Put your hands behind your back.”

He raised his eyebrows, but complied with her request. It was then that he realized the scarf was actually handcuffs of sorts. She slipped a lace cuff over one of his wrists, threaded the length through the bars of the back of the chair, then slipped the remaining cuff over his other wrist, effectively locking his hands behind his back. 

“There, since you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself.” Strike merely growled in response. 

Robin stepped back away from him as a new song started, “Eazy,” by Chanel West Coast.

Strike’s mouth hung open stupidly as Robin ground her hips to the beat of song. She turned her back to him, and bent forward, shaking her arse up and down. She turned and straddled his lap, rolling her hips seductively to the music. He could feel her heat rubbing the length of his erection, his trousers adding a frustrating barrier between them. He pulled at the lace cuffs, wishing he could feel the softness of her thighs.

“Fuck, Robin, can I take my trousers off?” he gasped desperately.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, but her hands dropped to his belt and unfastened it. He eagerly lifted his hips so she could pull his trousers and boxers down to his knees, freeing his erection. She turned with her back to him again and popped her hips, her arse jiggling tantalizingly above his lap. He got a closeup view of that heart cutout as she ground her arse against his cock. His length slid easily between her cheeks as she continued to grind her hips back and forth. 

Strike was practically panting now as he thrust against her, rubbing his cock along the cleft of her arse. He watched the head rub against the heart cutout, surrounded by her luscious, creamy flesh. Robin looked back at him and saw him watching his cock sliding against her, a slight sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Abruptly she stood and turned to him. “Apparently it wasn’t enough to just tie your hands. I think we’re going to need this too.” She pulled the lace from her wrist and slipped it over his head and down over his eyes. He groaned as the blindfold obscured his vision. 

He could still see through the lace somewhat, but not well. He turned his head to one side and then the other, trying to get a better view as Robin dropped back to straddle his lap. She gripped his shoulders and thrust her hips against him, rubbing her aching clit against his length. 

“Fuck, I can feel how wet you are,” he groaned. “Can I taste you?”

“Open your mouth,” she murmured and he obeyed. Robin pulled down the lace of her bra and pressed her breast against his waiting mouth. He pulled her nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. Robin leaned back abruptly, leaving him wanting. Through the lace of the blindfold, he could just make out her hand snaking its way down between them. He drew in a shaky breath in anticipation, but she didn’t wrap her fingers around his aching cock. A moment later, she pressed a wet finger against his lips. He sucked her finger into his mouth, tasting her juices coating her skin. He bobbed his head back and forth, mouth-fucking her finger, licking it clean. 

Emboldened, Robin dropped her lips to his neck and nipped down to his collarbone. She fumbled impatiently with his shirt buttons, then suddenly ripped it open, buttons flying through the air and clattering across the floor. Her lips and tongue traced a path down his chest and over his abdomen. She kissed over his hips to the base of his shaft, then licked lasciviously up the underside of his shaft to the bead of pre-cum glistening on the tip. She sucked the moisture off, then stood and thrust her tongue into his mouth. He could taste his own juices now, but he sucked her tongue clean all the same, their flavors mingling in his mouth. 

He breathed against her lips, “God, Robin, I need you so bad.” His hips rolled against her, emphasizing his point. “Take these off,” he growled as he thrust against the thin lace covering her groin. “Please,” he added with a grunt, remembering to play along with her game.

“What if I’m enjoying myself?” she asked coyly as she continued to slide back and forth along his length.

He practically whined, “Fuck, you’re killing me. I need to be inside you. I need to feel you.”

“Like this?” Robin pulled her thong to the side and ground against his cock, skin on skin. 

Strike groaned and leaned forward, seeking her lips. She captured his eager mouth with hers, their tongues entwining in an erotic dance. Robin tilted her hips and reached between them to grasp his solid length. Positioning him at her entrance, she sank down over him. He hissed a “Fuck,” as he filled her warm heat. He bucked up into her as Robin lifted up and sank over him again.

Strike leaned his head forward to rest against hers as Robin ground her pelvis into him. “Can I please look at you?” he whispered. Robin could hear in his voice that he was done playing the game. She pushed the blindfold up onto his forehead and he immediately leaned forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue was insistent, thoroughly exploring her mouth. He kissed her long, and slow, and sweet, both of their hips stilling as they focused on the rhythm of their tongues.

As their mouths moved together, something shifted in their kiss. A fire lit within them; as they looked into each other’s eyes, they were submerged in desire and emotion. Strike’s hips began to move slowly, grinding up into Robin as the need to fill her completely overwhelmed him. He needed to touch every inch of her skin, kiss every sensitive spot on her neck. He needed her closer, closer. Her eyes were heavy, clouded with lust, and he could feel himself being pulled into their endless depths. 

Her hips began to move as well, as she lifted up and sank back over his length. Their love and devotion to one another heightened their pleasure, and they began to move faster, desperately seeking release. 

Suddenly, the chair cracked ominously and they froze, eyes wide. The back of the chair felt a little loose as Strike leaned against it, and he worried it might not support both of their weights. With a surprising show up strength, he pulled his arms apart, easily ripping through the lace cuffs. Robin’s eyes widened impossibly further, and Strike smirked and growled playfully as he stood in a fluid motion, easily lifting her up into his arms. He hadn’t even broken their connection.

Robin locked her legs around his waist as he pressed her against the wall, trousers still around his ankles. Using the wall for leverage, he thrust into her, her arse bumping lightly against the wall. She moaned and clutched tightly to his shoulders, so he thrust into her harder. The new angle was hitting just the right spot, and she was soon panting, “Fuck, Cormoran, you’re so deep.”

He growled as he thrust into her harder, “You like that?”

“Yes! Harder!” she moaned. 

He fucked into her with more force, her arse bumping roughly against the wall. He pushed his hips forward, pinning her to the wall, and drove into her again and again, as deep as he could go. Robin’s head fell forward onto his shoulder, his hairy bulk muffling her cries.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he huffed. “That’s it, my darling, gorgeous girl, let me see you come.”

His words unleashed a wave of pleasure that flowed violently through her. Her legs clenched and spasmed, and her mouth fell open on a long cry. Strike continued to pound into her, drawing out her orgasm until he followed with his own, moments later. His hips pulsed forward and stilled as he grunted his release.

He panted into her neck, holding her close while they caught their breath. Robin’s legs slid from his grasp and he set her down, though he didn’t completely let go of her. 

Still breathless, she giggled, “So which one was your favorite?”

“Huh? Which one what?”

“Which outfit?”

“Oh,” he chuckled. “I don’t know, all of them.”

Robin laughed and playfully pinched him. “You have to pick one.”

“Alright, the blue one.”

“Really?” she asked, genuinely surprised. It was the least “sexy” in her opinion.

“Yeah, it reminded me of that dress you wore on your birthday. Only this one I got to untie, just like I wanted to do to that dress.”

She giggled again, “You thought about that?”

“A lot more than I should have.”

“I thought about you too, you know. A lot more than I should have.”

“Yeah? Did you ever…”

“Cormoran Strike!” Robin admonished, playfully pinching him again.

“Well did you?”

“What?! No! Of course not!”

He chuckled, “Why not? I did. A  _ lot  _ more than I should have.”

Robin gasped as he continued with a smirk, “You’re telling me you never fingered yourself while thinking about me? I’ve seen your naughty drawer, Ellacott.”

She blushed a brilliant shade of scarlet, silently answering his question. “It’s okay if you did, you know. It’s fucking hot, thinking about you playing with yourself,” he assured her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Maybe sometime you’ll let me watch you?”

“Only if I get to watch you,” she responded coyly. 

“Deal. What do you say we get cleaned up and watch a movie?”

Robin nodded, standing up on her toes for a sweet kiss.

***

“Corm, you want another beer?” Ilsa asked as she opened the fridge to get one for Nick, and to pour another glass of wine for herself and Robin.

“Cheers,” he said through a mouthful of curry as she plopped a bottle in front of him.

She sat back in her chair, which gave an sinister creak, the back wobbling dangerously. She squeaked and sat forward, afraid the chairback was going to give out on her. As she and Nick discussed the need to replace their old dining set, Strike and Robin shared a covert look, both of their cheeks flushing scarlet.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr @seebee239 or Discord @seebs. Thanks for reading!


End file.
